


when your fever breaks

by ghoulkink



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Caretaker Ignis, FFXV Secret Santa, FFXV Twitter Secret Santa, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Nightmares, Sick Noctis, Sickfic, noct and iggy are strictly platonic in this one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulkink/pseuds/ghoulkink
Summary: Noctis has a cold.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	when your fever breaks

**Author's Note:**

> For @ActivelyWeird over on twitter. I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Being sick reminded Noctis too much of being a child. Of being poked and prodded at in hospital beds with IV drips and worried faces looking in on a wounded little creature who just wanted to be left alone. He’d had so many nightmares back then. The kind that left him tired whenever he woke up, so, ironically and somewhat pointlessly, he’d sought serenity in the comforts of sleep.

Only, when the flu’s managed to sink its hooks into his immune system, Noct’s dreams take on much darker themes, transforming his sleep from immediate and restful to fitful and everlasting. 

As he sneezes for the umpteenth time, Noctis thinks, with absolute certainty, that the flu can bite his ass.

Noctis hates coffee, both for its taste and the horrible way it makes his heart race, but it keeps the nightmares at bay (can’t have nightmares if you can’t fall asleep!), so he reaches into the fridge, cracks open an Ebony, and grimaces his way through over half the can before planting himself in front of the TV. 

With Noct’s head and hands too heavy and too achy for games, he digs aimlessly into his Netflix queue and robotically clicks ‘yes’ when asked if he’s still watching.

Even as the sun peeks through his floor-to-ceiling windows, Noctis pops another DayQuil just a few moments before the alarm he’d set can remind him to do just that. Since he’s fallen ill, he’s taken those little orange pills every four hours on the dot, even with their poorly-delivered orange flavor and lingering aftertaste. 

He’s fairly certain he can see his ancestors now, passing fluidly through the veil of this world and the next, though the part of his brain that would dictate why that’s definitely bad is gone on sick leave. 

Something in the back of his mind scolds him for it (King Regis the Fifteenth, maybe?), but Noctis reaches for his half-finished Ebony, parched throat be damned, and ignores the way his leg jitters restlessly after.

  
  


*

  
  


Bloodshot eyes greet Ignis as he finds Noctis in his apartment, wide and undoubtedly over-caffeinated in how they stare through him. One of his lower lids twitches, and Ignis can’t help but feel responsible.

It was rather shortsighted of him, for certain, to supply a sick person with what would be high-octane fuel of restlessness. 

Ignis knew Noctis was battling a cold, and as such, would need ample medication, _consistent hydration_ , a surplus of sleep, but his Prince had insisted “Specs, I’ll be fine, just bring me some coffee, alright?”, and who was he to refuse orders? Even with a nagging sensation lingering at the back of his mind, Ignis swung for a six-pack of Ebony as asked, popped it in the fridge, and thought little of it after.

He can see the consequences of ignoring his intuition staring him right in the face, but he’s still uncertain as to why he went along with his charge’s whims. Noctis _hates_ coffee, so why is his coffee table—har har—littered with so many empty cans? Furthermore, why in the Astrals’ names has he risen so _early_? 

Ignis checks his watch in disbelief. It’s 9:30 on a Sunday. 

“Howdy, Specs.” Noctis honks all too brightly. His sinuses are still stuffed to the heavens, and Ignis has to refrain from laughing. He sounds a bit like a goose, or a sickly kitten.

“Howdy,” Ignis greets in kind, leaning to pluck the empty cans from the table. “Feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?” 

Noctis nods. Some sort of energy, likely the side-effects of all that damn coffee, thrums nervously in his veins. “You could say that. What brings you by today?”

Ignis’ features fall flat. “You’ve fallen ill, Highness.”

Oh yeah. “Oh yeah. That.” Noctis sniffs heavily, fishing a pack of tissues from the pocket of his pajama pants. “I don’t feel much better.”

Ignis notes Noct’s appearance, catching the wrinkles in his shirt, the unparalleled bedhead, the sickly pallor to his skin. Curious, he leans in a bit, and gives the air a sniff. The blanket draped around him reeks of stale boy. 

“Noct,” Ignis approaches carefully. His poor hygiene could be the byproduct of something beyond sickness and fatigue, and it would serve Ignis well to tread lightly. “Have you… not been bathing since I’ve been visiting?”

Noctis shakes his head, bailing on yet another show halfway through an episode. “Nah. Makes me sleepy.” 

Alright. Okay. Something’s wrong. Noctis and sleep are like… well. _Noctis and sleep._

Like he hadn’t said the most concerning thing he could utter, Noctis finds a decent-looking docuseries and pats the seat beside him. “You’re welcome to join me, you know. Don’t have to just tidy up and make me soup or whatever.”

  
  


Though hesitance begets him, Ignis accepts the offer, settling onto the couch with a wariness to his features. “Is something troubling you, Noct? I can escort you to the doctor if need be. There’s no need to--”

“Specs. ‘M fine, really. Everything’s peachy in Noctisville.” A yawn cuts through his words, and immediately, he hops to his feet for a fresh can of coffee. Once at the fridge, he locates the beverage and pops the top, slurping at the can with the door wide open. There’s silence between them, broken only by his loud sips and satisfied sigh as he parts from the can. 

  
  


Oof. Okay, so maybe another hit of Ebony wasn’t the best idea.

Noct’s temples are throbbing in time with his heartbeat, steady and pounding. His already oscillating temperature takes another odd turn, body burning at blitzing temperatures only to tremble with uncontrollable chills. His body was probably shutting down or something, having gone from a daily 14 hours of sleep to a piddly handful of minutes whenever he nods off on the sofa.

  
  


Caffeine surges in his veins, and yet he can hardly keep his eyes open. He’s looking _at_ the TV, but definitely not paying attention.

“Hey Specs?” He asks, blinking to soothe the burn of his eyes. At his friend’s inquisitive hum, Noctis starts to say… something. Thinks of telling him about the nightmares plaguing his head, of the DayQuil still burning his tongue. 

Part of him feels it’s an admission of weakness. That it’s a sign of regression, back to that frail, fragile boy with the baby deer eyes and bright curiosity. 

“Things are bad,” he begins. Ignis feels his chest tighten, but he stays silent. He’s listening. 

“Things are bad, whenever I sleep. I keep… losing you. I keep losing you and the guys and it’s always in these horrendous ways. But like, only when I’m sick, you know? And I know I went to therapy, and I’ve had a cold or two since then without my brain acting weird, but.” Noct’s words fall short, and he sighs. “You cool if I nap here? This Ebony is having the complete opposite effect at this point.”

Ignis feels the urge to say something, but again, he ignores it. Pats his leg. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll see to it that you shower and hydrate when you wake.”

Noctis spares a wan chuckle as he settles. "I'll hold you to that."

*

It's early evening before Noctis finally wakes up. He's groggy, and his arms are heavy with ache and stiffness, but for the first time since illness has sunken its claws into him, he's felt okay. His sleep wasn't perfect or dreamless (he'd been chased by a giant anak in at least one of his dreams), but it was enough to help him feel recentered, if only slightly.

The scent of lavender shampoo is thick in Noct's freshly-washed hair, and though fever still clings to the backs of his eyes, he can feel it breaking, slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> i absolutely adore doing holiday exchanges. they're so sweet and fun, plus you get to write stuff!! literally the best of all worlds. as always, you can find me on twitter @gargoylebite, if you wanna spread some more festive cheer. ❄️❄️


End file.
